True Strength
by kcolema
Summary: This reader insert features a light-hearted, endearing connection between the reader and MCU James (Bucky) Barnes. The series starts as friendship, and develops into much more. Let me know how you like it!
1. Accidents

A soft hum of classical music filled the lounge area in Stark Towers, the residents taking this opportunity to catch up on hobbies, training, or sleeping. Their newest addition, (Y/n), reclined on a corner of the sleek, modern sofa with a notepad and pen in her busy hand. Passionate thoughts and creative ideas spilled onto the pages through the ink as she intently organized, prioritized, and reviewed her work. The majority of members belonging to her team were in their designated rooms, or elsewhere in the building, however, a member that she had yet to even converse with was sitting at an opposite angle to her, busy with his own work. Occasionally, his metal appendage would whine softly over the music, or the couch would rustle as she adjusted her position when her legs fell asleep, but that was the extent of their auditory exchanges.

Once they made a passing glance during a fight a few months ago, but there was no purpose of it, or reason. There was simply never time to talk amongst the chaos nowadays. The noise of pen scribbling almost violently across paper stopped abruptly, and was replaced with the crushing sound of the pen itself. (Y/n)'s pupils contracted and she was brought out of a trance. With a sigh, she took the remains of the pen into her hands, thankfully having not broken the ink cartridge, and placed it on the glass coffee table beside her head. James glanced up at her from the absence of the familiar sound, but quickly ignored it once more after she pulled an extra one out of her pocket.

After coming to terms with how new her powers were, and how little she could control her grip strength, she started preparing for mundane mishaps such as these. The atmosphere soon fell back to a comfortable symphony of typing, writing, and quiet music once more. She continued her writing and regained her inspiration, relentlessly attacking the paper with her mind, all too quickly becoming invested and locked in. This passion returned a more aggressive outcome, similar to the first. This time, a wave of ink took her work away just as fast as she had turned them out, earning a groan of well-earned frustration.

She stood quickly and salvaged as much as she could of the pens, and made her short trek to the kitchen, where the trash bin was located. With one hand occupied with pen remains, both covered completely in ink that was sure to be a pain to get off, she reached for the drawer handle, and took a quiet moment of processing as she held the steel handle up to her torso. At the sudden, almost insulting, commotion over James' favorite jam, he turned his head in her direction, only to furrow his brows in just as much confusion as her face read. Her nostrils flared in silent rage, setting the bar down on the marble counter top with a _crACK._

She took a deep breath, and reached for the sink handle just before he exclaimed, "Wait!" In a hoarse, previously unused voice. He cleared his throat and made his way to the other side of the island, in front of her, and turned the warm water on for her, "That would've been Hell to fix." Her defeated expression gave way to amusement as she chuckled softly and allowed him to pour the soap into her hands. He reached over and picked up the bar, inspecting it carefully before finding that an imprint was left on the counter, in the shape of the handle. "So, this is why you live here?"

The rhetorical question was left as more of an observation, and he waited as she dried her now stained hands to ask any more questions. "I'm guessing this happens often?" She nodded. "Too often." He returned her expression with an empathetic one, and walked around to try and find a way to repair the drawer, "We could train you, you know. I was afraid of my strength for a while, and still am sometimes, but I've gotten it under control with all of Stark's wacky gadgets and whatnot." She'd never seen him smile before, but she wasn't complaining. The left side of his mouth perked up as he recalled earlier memories of being the newest member and constantly breaking things.

He was usually so one-note and didn't have much life in his eyes, aside from when he was with Steve, but she'd either never cared enough to notice, or he genuinely never felt comfortable enough to laugh and smile like this. Jesus, he was attractive.

" - Right?"

She looked down from his eyes and back to his mouth, then studied the rest of his face quickly before remembering to nod. "Yeah, totally." He kept his smile, but his eyes narrowed in playful suspicion before bringing his attention to the noise coming from down the hallway. It was Barton with a carton of orange juice, seemingly empty from the ease at which he was carrying it. He nodded to both you and James in acknowledgement, before reaching to the drawer for the trash bin. At the lack of a handle, he looked over at James, who was still wielding it, and simply shook his head, using only the stubbed tips of his fingers to slide open the cubby with almost too much difficulty.

"Sorry, Barton. I'll replace it." You called as he walked back in the direction of his room, still shaking his head.


	2. Control

Slightly used fabric found its way onto (Y/n's) wrist as she tightened the glove by wrapping its cuff around her, attaching the velcro securely and patting it for good measure. She wet her chapped bottom lip and looked across possibly the smallest room in the Tower she had been in, over to her newly found friend, James. He didn't look nearly as nervous as she felt, but that may have been due to the presence of Steve, who tended to expect nothing less than a confident womanizer out of his best friend. Said American hero seemed to be recalling an old memory and laughing, James respectively returning your gaze from his seat and offering a reassuring look.

You looked back down at your knuckles and smiled to yourself. With a deep breath, you stood and set your phone down on the upturned box you had settled on earlier, allowing the song you chose to ring about the room from a Bluetooth speaker on the hardwood floor. "Looks like tiny's ready. Hurry up, grandpa." Steve commented. James looked up at him through a tired gaze and sighed, "You're one to talk." You were content with staying out of their classic passes and observing. Lately, the closer you got to James, the more he expressed his vulnerable side, one that Hydra had forced out of him, something he couldn't show Steve, let alone the rest of the team.

With every conversation, you began to realize that the person he was before the war, the person Steve expected him to be, had died a long time ago. As you settled in front of your now opponent, Steve to your right, you placed a bright orange guard in your mouth and gave him a goofy grin. James broke his serious expression for a brief moment at your lighthearted mannerisms before shaking his head to settle back to his original state. "You're going to want to look at Bucky as your enemy. Not your boyfriend-" He was cut off by a desperate, defensive mumble through your orange guard and a falter in your prepared stance. Your arms were spread out in retaliation and all your weight was on your back leg.

With a knowing look, Steve blew his whistle and stepped back. Almost instantly, James took advantage of your beginner stance and wrapped his arms around your waist, flipping you in a 180 and slamming you, face-up, on the mat. He let go at the sound of a whistle, and you continued to lay in that position to process what just happened. "Is that allowed?!" You rolled to your side and sat up slowly, getting back on your feet with an almost offended expression. "Anything is technically allowed in the heat of battle, but even with rules, it is allowed. You need to not let distractions get the best of you."

You took a deep breath in through your nose, and slowly out through pursed lips, "Alright, noted." You took your stance once more and wiggled your exposed toes to better grip the mat. With another high-pitched whistle, you took at least nine paces back from a stagnant James, and gave him a look of expectation, but to no avail. He did not move, in fact, he put his awaiting fists down and straightened his stance. Another whistle. Great.

"You can't always play the mouse, you have to throw a couple punches in," Steve began when you were back in your designated spot, vocally impaired from the whistle in the corner of his mouth, "You have a gift, (Y/n). Use it." You nodded, and the match resumed. With some hesitation, you reeled back and felt your fist collide with James' jaw, knocking him a good few feet onto his back. Another sound of the whistle, and you felt the need to check on him vanish as he quickly recovered. The ghost of a surprised look resided on his now bruised face before he masked it with a vacant look of preparation.

"Was that okay?" You turned to look at Steve, and he seemed thoroughly impressed. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

Seven matches later, and with about five liters of sweat on the floor, Steve graciously decided to call it in early for the both of you and left after agreeing on another date. "Thanks, man. 'preciate it." The two men exchanged a few more words and Steve waved on his way out the door. James visibly softened at his departure next to you, and you smiled, "That was intense, huh?" Unwrapping the gloves from your sore, sweaty hands was a near orgasmic experience. You started taking your mouth guard out and became immediately disgusted by the sheer amount of saliva in the inner rim; so much so that you had to actively tried not to gag.

"He's just a lot sometimes." He allowed mouth to curl into a lazy smile at your goofy, amateur actions, meeting your eyes, and on his way back down to his own gloves, he found your bare right hand. Splits on your second and third knuckles were prominently featured, and deep colored bruises decorated the majority of impact points, while scars hid in the shadows of fresh wounds. You felt his lasting look on one of your biggest insecurities and turned it away from his range of vision, "Your hair's been getting longer. You gonna cut it anytime soon?" You quickly diverted his attention to dialogue.

It caught him off guard, his mouth hanging ajar slightly, jaw bobbing up and down for a moment, "Uhh... I mean, I um, yeah no. No, no I won't cut it until it gets, like, to my collarbone." He punctuated with a breathy chuckle at his stumbling, and continued, "What about you? Gonna do anything with yours?" You thought for a moment while slipping off your other glove and resting your hands palm-up in your lap. "I haven't really thought about it, but I suppose not. I like where it's at right now."

He nodded and grabbed his things from the floor, and as you followed suit, you both let out an audible groan at the action of standing after such an intense workout. You really got the chance to look at him when you shared a laugh; the way his eyes lit up when he locked into you, how he put his hair up into a messy bun and still looked good, how he moved. Everything he did felt right to you, and you found yourself in the same position as the first night you talked. He didn't say anything this time, though, and let you grab your things while he held open the door for you upon exiting.

Back on the main floor, you both settled in the stools next to the kitchen counter while drinking two large glasses of cold orange juice, just to regain some energy after those matches. You sat facing each other, heads resting on the palms of your hands as you tried to explain what some of the side effects of your powers were, only upon his insistent questions. You broke eye contact and held a small breath in, trying to think of a way to describe how it affected you, "I just... Sometimes I think of this 'gift' as a curse, since it ruins everything I put my hands on. I haven't had the strength-" You closed your eyes, smiling at the irony and letting out the breath through your nose softly, "The _mental_ strength, at least, to touch an animal. I don't think I could live with myself if I somehow hurt something, or someone."

He became a little more tense, and he locked his jaw subtly as he found himself looking at your limp hand on your lap. You followed his eyes to his own fabricated appendage and took more interest in the way the light bounced off of the metal material. His voice brought you out of your head, "May I?" He reached out with his false arm, palm up. A few moments of hesitation were shared, but you sighed and gave him your battered hand, looking away as he studied the inconsistencies and flaws. "I don't like people touching my arm," He began, grabbing your attention, "After what happened, I felt like all it did was serve as a reminder."

His voice waved ever so slightly, and if the room hadn't been so deafeningly quiet, you wouldn't have caught it. "But, over time, I learned that just because I did, doesn't mean I will. Just as you could, but you won't. Choice is all you have, so you might as well start using it." You didn't notice that he had interlaced your fingers together through what he was telling you. You took a moment to let that sink in before continuing, "Thank you." A squeeze of your hand brought your eyes down, and you grinned cheekily in turn to share a laugh with him. You both let go at the same time, but only because of the oncoming footsteps down the north stairwell.

**Stark:** I need your opinion on this new suit prototype ASAP before I completely ignore your wishes. **(file type: jpeg) /0120/**

**(Y/n):** It looks alright, who's it for? **/0125/**

**Stark:** It's for you, dumbass. Wednesday Adams told me about your hands. No doubt you're the same everywhere else, too. **/0157/**

**(Y/n):** Jesus Christ, I don't need a fancy suit to do my job.** /0703/**

**Stark:** Too late. Come up to the fourth floor. **/0735/**


	3. Balance

It wasn't even the feeling of this new suit coming off that truly bothered you; it was the smell. Two weeks on a grueling mission with little amenities, including showers, did it in for the entire team, but after so long nearly every member became accustomed to the shared musk. You had never wanted to hold your breath at a smell coming off of yourself that you had genuinely produced, but there was a first time for everything, and you had a feeling that many others were having the same problem in their own separate spaces.

It certainly didn't help that the material was especially grabby to your bare skin, notably your arms, legs, and stomach. Once you had managed to peel off the rest of the suit, it landed on the bathroom tiles with a _smack, _similar to a wet bandaid. "Disgusting," you mumbled to yourself, turning to start up the shower. It was a marvelous, well-earned sight after the long weeks you spent in Siberia, a country known to be home to a large Hydra base in the southern half. The aching muscles throughout your back and sides seemed to sigh in relief alongside you at the contact of warm water.

Even though you were gifted with inhuman strength, that didn't necessarily mean you were skillful in endurance or the general fitness needed for these kinds of missions. No ordinary human was, which is part of the reason why so many on the team weren't ordinary humans, or even human at all. There were many times where you felt faint and had to rely on what Hydra so graciously embedded in you to keep moving on. The presence of the team was incredibly comforting though, and you all had each other's backs no matter what, even when you were injured. This thought brought your hand down to your mid-thigh, where a soldier had managed to 'slash and dash,' as Tony put it on the com system.

Agent Romanoff rushed to your side through the heat of the fight and quickly aided you in getting back on your feet, only after wrapping your bloody leg in tight gauze and assuring you that it wasn't too deep. You couldn't thank her enough for that, and it very much encouraged your opinion of how supportive the team was, and definitely made you feel better about being chosen for it. If that wasn't enough, it was certainly the sound of James' voice over the com system asking you about you that gave you the strength to keep going, despite the emotional and physical pain of being in battle. You smiled to yourself as even the thought of it made you feel physically lighter where you stood, and the refreshing scent of being finally cleaned from the muck and grime reminded you that it was time to step out.

_DING_

The sound of your phone from your bedroom next door brought you out of the bathroom in a barely tied bathrobe and slippers in a rush; that was James' text tone. You had set it to a lighter sound, compared to the automatically set _fwoop_ tone, just to distinguish between levels of importance.

**James: **Sam bought Starbucks and gave me a frappuccino. He knows I don't drink those. You want it? **/1610/**

**(Y/n): **Hell yeah. Bring it up **/1611/**

**James: **K **/1611/**

With no idea how quickly he would arrive with the drink, your heart rate increased upon the sight of a messy room that you had yet to pay any mind to when you had arrived. In a state of slight panic, you pushed the dirty clothes lying around underneath your bed, and picked up some trash along the way to throw in your bathroom trashcan. A few more adjustments later, and you realized that you were still rocking the bathrobe and slippers for the world to see, so you slipped on some sweats and a comfortable tee just as James' knock could be heard from the other side of the door. "Come in!" You called, dangerously aware of how unnatural you looked at the foot of your bed, with a mildly flushed complexion.

"Hey," He greeted, setting the beautiful drink down on your bedside table, which you just now realized was home to a candy bar wrapper you didn't notice on your trash purge. With the lingering feeling of embarrassment, you made your way over to the bathroom door to turn off the light and shut the door, so that the smell of your uniform didn't find its way to James' nose. Or yours, for that matter. "What a couple of weeks," You sighed, trying to break some tension you were 99% sure only you were feeling. "Yeah, that's definitely an understatement. How's your leg feeling?" He settled himself on your bed, catching your eye for a moment.

"It's fine. Doesn't hurt nearly as much." You sat down and adjusted yourself so that you could rest your head on the pillows situated in front of the headboard, but still be in a sitting position. He leaned over and handed you the drink, to which you happily consumed while he pulled out his phone. It took a few moments for you to decide what to do, but you settled on turning on the television to old reruns of some 80's sitcom about a housewife. The background noise instantly made you feel more comfortable, and as you had little pressing matters to discuss, you found yourself engulfed in the show, two-thirds of the way done with the beverage.

As the next episode's theme began playing, you quickly typed a password into your phone and opened up Snapchat, messing with some new filters they recently added. The one with the hearts looked very flattering on yourself, and the suggestion, 'Try with a friend!' popped up on the screen, so you decided to angle it over to James. He had already taken some interest in your cellular activities, and was currently looking at the screen. Once it detected his face, you grinned and pressed the button, much to his disapproval. "Get rid of it, I don't like it." He said this lightly, but a hint of sincerity was still there just beneath the surface.

Instead of deleting it, you tapped the screen to add the caption, "Chillin with my goth gf." He broke into a smile at the friendly nature of it, but still insisted on deleting it, to which you edited, "Chillin with my thicc goth gf." He shook his head, smile plastered to his face, and reached over to take your phone away to dispose of the picture. You quickly held it out of his reach and saved it without his knowledge, beginning to post it. He reacted suddenly, grabbing your wrist that held your phone in the air and earning a look of surprise from you. You realized this was about to get a little more serious when he reached with his free arm to take the phone. You counteracted by sitting on your knees and blocking his other hand, attempting to keep him still with your sore leg.

"(Y/n), please, I don't want you posting that." He had some strain in his voice while he tried to slip his metal arm out of yours. With some available movement left in your wrist, you flicked your phone to the other side of the bed, where James tried to flee. You grabbed him by the middle and trapped his hand underneath him. His free arm was struggling to reach the phone, and you couldn't allow yourself to move much more without letting him go, so you both started waving the two arms around in a pitiful battle for the device. His fingertips bumped the side, moving it even farther away from himself. His struggling noises were muffled by your sheets as you stuffed his head down onto your bed to impair his vision.

It would be noteworthy to mention that neither you nor him were using full strength, which is something you noticed partly through the struggle, but didn't have the time to question. When you risked adjusting your weight on top of him, his other arm broke from its bonds and he quickly overpowered you, sitting up and turning you onto your stomach just as you had done to him. "Jesus Ch-" you were cut off by the wind being squished out of you as he sat on your upper back to counter any attempts of escape. He easily reached over and grabbed your phone, it unfortunately still being unlocked, and took a moment to make his preferred adjustments. When he finished, he sat up and allowed you to take your first desperate breath for air, showing you the nonexistent picture.

In defeat, you shambled your way back to your spot and said, "That was highly unnecessary, you know." With a half-grin, he sat under the covers and propped his head up on a pillow, "I know." He sat back and continued watching the show while you took a moment to fix your disheveled hair, soon taking refuge under the blankets and adjusting a pillow behind your head so you could comfortably get a good angle on the TV. "What was that app you were using?" He asked, not looking away from the show until you did.

You let out a snort of amusement, thinking it was some kind of joke, until you considered his experiences and just how much he probably doesn't know about the modern world, let alone social media. You let your jaw work a bit as you gathered your thoughts and tried to figure out how to explain it. "Uh...well, it's called Snapchat and almost everyone uses it. You can download it if you want and I'll show you how to use it." He didn't respond, instead looking at you expectantly. It didn't occur to you that he didn't know how to download it until just now. "Oh. Hand me your phone real quick."

Just as you had expected, there was no password on it, and he hadn't downloaded any apps upon receiving the device, so you took it upon yourself to get him the basics, such as Instagram, YouTube, Snapchat, and Gmail. As you explained how to use each one, you set up his accounts under his supervision and began to send out requests to people on the team, assuming they were the only people he bothered to be around. Throughout the time it took to show him all of the features and settings, you barely noticed how much closer you shifted towards him, hips and arms were touching, but neither of you vocalized any qualms about it.

You made sure to plug in your accounts as well since you were close, and in the likely case he had any questions, you could answer him. "I think that covers everything. How do you feel?" He bit his lip and swiped through one of his accounts, "A little overwhelmed. They didn't have anything like this in the 40's." That brought up a question you had been wanting to ask, but didn't know if he would consider it to be rude or off-putting. "Are you...are you older than Cap?" You looked up from his phone and the gravity of how close you were hit you like a freight train, and judging by his expression, the feeling was reciprocated. "Yeah, he's a few years younger than me, why?"

His voice was extremely distant, and his initial shock had turned into something else, but you couldn't exactly tell, unlike how you could tell he had a mint not too long ago. "So, that would make you?" The gears in your head started turning, but you couldn't bring yourself to do any sort of mental exercise through how deep his blue eyes were. "101." Record scratch. "One hundred and one?" Your eyes widened, as did his. "Holy shit, you're so old." You both began laughing, the volume steadily increasing as you both let out your anxiety with comical hysteria. As it died down, you faced away from each other, and back the television in front of you, "Well, you look fantastic for your age, Barnes."

He smiled and guided your head to his shoulder, and you obliged, unfazed through how exhausted you felt. "Thank you, I try." He wrapped his arm around you, allowing it to rest in your lap as you both fell gently asleep.

Sam, reclining in the lounge area on the large, plush sofa felt a vibration in his back pocket. He set his book down, adjusted his weight, and found a notification from James on Snapchat. With a roll of his eyes, he opened it up and felt his brows furrow in confusion as James told him to check (Y/n)'s story. He did as instructed, and held his breath. The same picture you had taken earlier, that James had fought so hard to get a hold of, was posted with a slight alteration in the caption, "Chillin with my thicc goth bf." The picture closed and he sat for a few moments, mouth open, before frantically yelling for Steve.


	4. Adapting

After thirty or so messages flooding your phone to a point of constant buzzing, you were forced to turn your notifications off for many of your social outlets, just so you could carry a conversation with Natasha. You set your phone face down out of respect for the topic at hand and basic human decency, resting your chin on your elbow against the dining table. She carried on about an embarrassing story regarding one of her exes, mostly about how he managed to accuse her of cheating based solely off of one message to Steve. "So, what was the message?" Her face contorted to a lazy, half-smile and she looked down at the table. "I think it was something like, 'Can you check my mail while I'm gone?' And Mark somehow related that to me asking him for a one night stand." You let out a sympathetic chuckle, sucking in a breath and sighing at how utterly ridiculous people could be when jealous and provoked.

She too began to rest her head on her knuckles, leaning a little closer from across the table and making eye contact after scanning the room. You looked around as well and leaned in out of curiosity, allowing your hand to fall to your chest on the wood. "How far have you two gotten?" The question took you by surprise, and you quickly regained your previous posture. "It's only been two weeks, Nat!" You said in a hushed tone. She rolled her eyes, "You're an adult. Some relationships start with sex." You made a brief contemplating face and sighed, "He talks too much for anything to happen, I guess." She snorted and covered her mouth, giggling at the pitiful sentence.

"You're kidding, right? He's so quiet!" She managed, placing one hand to the side of her face and maintaining her amused grin. "I'm really not," You responded, earning another snort, and you grinned at the reality of it, "I don't know what to say, it just hasn't come up yet. There's been no need to, especially with all the work we've been getting." The conversation took another turn at the mention of your jobs. Lately it had been a busy time for busting Hydra facilities throughout the country, often being two-to-three day trips without rest. "That's understandable. I guess it could be hard to schedule anything ahead of time, given the nature of the assignments." You both sighed simultaneously.

She turned her head away from you at the distant sound of her name from another room. "Yeah?" She called out, waiting for a response. Your eyes met once more before silently agreeing to stand up and find the source, but there was no real need to continue, given the appearance of Sam in the doorway. "Oh, hey, Steve wanted to know if you wanted to get booze and bowl with the guys." There was a moment of hesitation, but she reluctantly agreed. You felt a small pang of disappointment for not being invited, but brushed it off, given the age gap between you and the rest of the team. Sam took one look at you and was able to read what your face was telling, and acted accordingly.

"You're coming too, Metalhead." You were relieved that you were included, but paused at the odd insult. As you and Natasha made your way out of the dining room, you couldn't decide on whether it was a reference to your strength, or your romantic relationship with James, given his metallic arm. While walking down the staircase to get back to the main floor, you heard Natasha ask from behind you, "We're leaving now?" He made a noise of confirmation and slipped into the lounge, where Steve was entertaining James with a tale about what you could only guess had something to do with their glory days. "If you're coming, go get what you need and we can meet in the parking garage downstairs," Sam announced.

The bar was comparatively much more quiet than the car, and the atmosphere gave off an amount of silent maturity and sophistication that you weren't sure you were able to deal with properly, especially after the rowdy jamming out you had recently participated in. This feeling almost completely vanished, however, with the physical presence of James' hand covering your left shoulder and guidance towards one of the booths. The sound of his voice was a relief to your ears against the deafening silence, "They serve champagne ice cream here." Your eyebrows raised in surprise at his excited tone, something that was possibly even less common than alcoholic ice cream. As the rest of the group began conversing, it felt levels more comfortable than when you first walked in.

When you settled in next to the Sam, who respectively scooted over to give you room, you noticed the red oak finishes on the wall to his right, and just how plush the dark seats of the booth were, contrary to what you were expecting upon the sight of them. As James sat to your left, Steve and Natasha were situating themselves across from you and were commenting on the new renovations to the restaurant. They must have been going here for a while, you assumed, and you felt even more grateful to be invited to their regular spot. The feeling was a slightly downplayed, though, due how it had to do with your relationship with somebody already on the inside, but it had not been completely vanquished.

Nobody went to grab a menu that was sitting on the edge of the table, so you decided not to, either. That ice cream sounded interesting, anyway. You felt a little squished, partly due to the size of the table and amount of patrons seated on one side, and partly from James' thighs, ones that you just now noticed were somehow strangled into a slim fitting style of acid-washed jean. Sure, he sported an incredible figure, you came to realize over the amount of times you had trained with him while shirtless, but his legs were certainly the focal point that you couldn't seem to fully recover from easily. You glanced down at Sam's leg closest to the wall and found no room for comfort, so you didn't vocalize your minor discomfort to anyone.

James had noticed your anxiety long before they had arrived at the restaurant, and he could only feel slightly responsible for it. He swiftly interlaced your twitchy fingers into his over the table and leaned down to mumble next to your ear, "Don't be so nervous, we all know each other." You grinned and leaned ever so slightly into his figure, continuing to listen to the ongoing conversation about how inefficient the new salt shakers were. Steve was currently attempting to vigorously acquire his desired amount of salt onto a paper napkin, shakily explaining, "See? Absolutely nothing. Maybe a speck or two." He wasn't wrong; there, at least visibly, was no product being extracted. Amongst his troubles, he didn't hear the server greet you all unanimously with a polite wave.

You could only briefly note her dark circles before a _clank_ was heard from Steve's direction. You looked back at his frozen form and cracked up in unison with the group, having just witnessed salt pour all over the table, as well as on Steve. He was not nearly as enlightened, especially when he looked up at the server with a kind of face you'd see on a kicked puppy. Thank god for his good looks, because you had a feeling that if he were any more unfortunate in the physical department, the server would have reached over the table and strangled him for making her job more painful than it already was. He didn't have the chance to apologize before she started, with a forced smile, "What will you have to drink?"

After recording all of your preferences, she left briskly. There was a brief moment of silence before you stated, "I think she's gonna spit in your drink." You received a round of snickers, Steve attempting to clean up the mess he made with more napkins. "I couldn't agree more, (Y/n)." Sam, with a residing smile on his face, took a long look at your interlocked hands and commented, "That kind of inappropriate behavior is not allowed at this table." James looked over you and at him with a competitive expression, placing your hands underneath the table, "Is this better, Your Majesty?" Sam pursed his lips and shook his head, "Even worse."

You could tell Natasha had something brewing in her mind before she even opened her mouth. "Don't worry, Sam. I think they might as well be waiting until marriage to kiss." He cracked into a wide grin and opened his mouth to say something, but Steve looked up from his disaster of an accident, "Since when does Bucky Barnes keep it in his pants?" Sam lost it, breaking into a flurry of laughter that he tried to muffle through his hands. You instantly looked up at James, who simply rolled his eyes. Natasha was no help.

Steve leaned in, trying his best to give you a meaningful, serious look, despite his salt mountain beneath him. "You better watch out for that one," He looked up at Bucky, who currently did not approve of Steve's tone, "He's loose." James snapped his fingers in Steve's face, forcing him to sit back properly in his seat, while the blond man retorted, "Hey, hey, you're still good looking." You chuckled softly and nodded in agreement.

Your drinks came relatively quickly, and with another tense moment between Steve and your server, everyone had their choices noted and she was on her way once more. Natasha tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put her glass up to her lips, "She's new, so maybe they won't keep her around for long with that attitude, Cap." Steve shook his head and wiped his mouth of the froth from his beverage, "It's not her fault. I'd be cross with someone if I had to clean up a bunch of salt that they spilled. She's probably been dealing with idiots all day." You all have a moment of contemplation, before Sam spoke, "Just give her a big tip. She's nice enough to the rest of us, and she put extra lemon slices in my water."

He sounded relatively pleased with her attentiveness, even though it was for a mundane task like lemon water. You glanced up at James for his input, but he was currently occupied with folding his napkin into the tiniest square possible, to which you became invested in as well. You held out a hand to try, once it seemed like he couldn't get it smaller than a fingernail, and he gave it up. You studied it for a moment, then took it between your thumb and index finger, squeezing tightly.

The small, compact piece of paper began to create a tiny trail of smoke, making you wince and drop it down on the table. It continued to emit dark fumes until you decided to take an ice cube from your drink and cool it. With a fizzle, it stopped, and you slipped the ice cube under the table. "Is that why you haven't laid it down yet?" Sam asked with amusement in his voice, breaking the tension you created. James rolled his eyes and checked your fingers for burns, "Shut up."

The conversation didn't carry on any farther, thankfully, because your waitress was back with your food. While everyone else had asked for common foods like burgers and fries, your ice cream still looked the most appetizing to you. When she left again and the others began their conversations once more, James made an expectant noise, forcing you to look up at his gaze directed towards your already melting ice cream. You looked down at his food and squinted, "You have your own."

You licked the most melted part to stop any of it from getting on the table, or yourself, and the taste was extremely pleasant. Not too sweet, not too grainy or chalky. It was regular soft serve with a flavor twist and it worked surprisingly well. You studied it a bit more and looked at your hand to check if any had dripped. Unfortunately, some was starting to slide down your fingers, so you leaned across the table to grab a few extra napkins. You were careful to keep the ice cream away from your body, and when you sat back down, a large portion appeared to be missing off of the top.

The obvious bite mark lead you towards James, who was holding the back of his hand up to his mouth to wipe the remains of your ice cream off of his lips.


	5. New

The humble bowling alley downtown, aptly named "Strikers," was now home to five members of the most controversial group in America. At the restaurant, you had failed to notice the shared conservative outerwear the rest had decided to go with. Common items included sunglasses, baseball caps, jackets, and other clothes in that ballpark. You, on the other hand, were slightly less experienced with your new social standing, and opted for simple daywear that didn't offer much coverage. To put it bluntly, you felt pretty exposed and stupid when a young man with bright eyes and a smaller frame stumbled up to your unsuspecting figure at the check-in counter.

He was polite enough, albeit stuttering and clearly nervous. "Hi," Was all he said, and you were caught off-guard by his lack of explanation. In hindsight, it was probably difficult enough for him to even approach you, let alone say something intelligable. "Hey?" You turned to face him completely, asking, "Do I know you?" It was hard to keep yourself from looking at anyone else for conformation or assistance, but you managed. He shook his head and became a little too interested in his hands, quickly breaking your hesitant eye contact. "No ma'am, I, uh, I was um, I was wondering if..." He trailed off, finishing his request at a volume you couldn't hear over the obnoxious music.

"I'm sorry? I couldn't quite catch that." James put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to look up at him, and even though he believed he was helping your confusion, he was only making it worse by distracting you. "A picture." The young man, probably somewhere in his early to mid teens, spat out quickly while you weren't looking at him. You snapped your attention back to his slightly shaking frame and had to take a few moments to process. It was extremely awkward, but you finally made the realization that he probably had heard about you in the news, especially after the long weeks in Siberia making multiple headlines. You made a small 'o' with your mouth and relaxed your brows, nodding quickly.

"Yeah, of course!" He lit up like a Christmas tree, pulling out his phone with trembling hands and opening up his camera as quickly as humanly possible. You leaned in and rested your hand on his shoulder, attempting to get your best angle before he took a few snaps. "Thank you so much!" With that, he was off to a group of similar-looking boys, who all gathered around the phone with wide grins and began talking among themselves. As James pulled out his wallet, he shook his head and sighed, "I keep forgetting you're so new to all of this. If you don't try to be discreet, you'll be getting a lot of that." You brought your lips in and shrugged, pulling yours out as well. "I don't mind it that much. At least not at the moment."

He perked his eyebrows up for a brief moment before letting them settle down beneath his sunglasses again. "Sometimes it won't be as pleasant." You pulled out a twenty and gave him a side glance, briefly considering his media coverage was guaranteed to have backlash, no matter how well he's improved since then. There would always be those that viewed him as a military weapon, instead of the complex and charming person you knew him to be. "Their loss, I suppose," You nudged him slightly with your elbow, and began to pass your share to the cashier behind the counter. James, however, obstructed your actions and took your cash, handing the older man a forty and giving you back your share. Your face contorted into a slightly offended, slightly surprised expression. "Excuse me?"

You glanced to your left, where Steve was already lacing up his bowling shoes, and gave him a pleading look. It was evident that he would be of no service this time, given his closeness in age to James. "You're excused, babe." He handed you your size and you stared, open-mouthed, "You know I can pay for my own stuff, right?" He placed them at your feet and began lacing up his own, straining, "I let you pay for your food earlier, didn't I?" You felt your face get a little hot at the statement, and stood up a little straighter, "Let me?" Steve snickered at your nature, but you let it slide. Sitting down, you took a breath and decided to pay him back one way or another. "I'll go find our lane, Buck." Natasha announced, patting his shoulder as she and Sam began walking to the direction of your designated spot.

Once you finished tying your bulky shoes, you caught Steve whispering something to James out of the corner of your eye before going after the other two. James waited for you to stand back up and walked by your side, pulling you closer to him by squeezing your opposite arm, an affectionate gesture you had come to associate him with. On the way over to your lane, you passed by the small group of young men and, while trying not to make eye contact with any of them, felt James' hand tense, holding you a little tighter as you walked by. It wasn't uncharacteristic of him to get slightly 'territorial,' as Steve would put it, but it was surprising that he would even think the small gaggle of possibly underage boys could do any harm.

You placed a hand on the small of his back, barely gripping his coat, and gave him a reassuring pat before parting to choose a ball size. With a glance at Natasha's choice, you decided on a weight similar to it, and made a short trek to the dispenser to place it down. As you observed everyone else's bowling ball preferences, your ears caught wind of a hushed conversation between Sam and Steve, and you couldn't help but lock in. Just to look busy, you settled on organizing the balls by the order of which they appeared on the overhead monitor, one with all of your teammates' names.

You smiled as it read, in order from top to bottom, "NatNat," "birb," "starsandsalts," "Metalhead," "Crip," and "raccoon." Natasha entered those names before you had arrived, and she was arguably the most intoxicated out of the entirety of the group, only competitive with Steve, who you had previously assumed to be above the indulgence of alcohol. You supposed you were wrong, of course, especially upon the appearance of your name in his conversation with 'birb.'

"Do you think he can, you know, like, activate it?"

"How am I supposed to know? Ask him."

"We don't talk Steve, you know that. But I just want to know if it's possible."

Steve leaned back and looked across the room at James. "Buck- That man, he is- was-," He made a guttural sound, stumbling over his words, "We're 100 plus, there's no tellin' if he'd even want to anymore." Sam, who was sitting sideways in the direction of Steve, put his hand to his mouth and said something you couldn't catch at your distance. You let it go, allowing Natasha to start to game by squeezing past you, and sat between Sam and Steve to perhaps diffuse some of the suspicions they may have had about your eavesdropping.

Steve sweetly turned to you and greeted you with a simple, "Hi." He grinned wider than he normally allowed, so you returned with at least twice as much of enthusiasm as you would have any other time. "Hi, there." There was something about a tipsy Rogers that made him all the more approachable, and definitely brought out a less guarded side of him. You sensed Sam sighing from behind you at his nature, and you could only relate. He was the designated driver, therefore having not consumed any alcohol that night, and while you did, it wasn't nearly enough to disrupt your system like Steve or Natasha. The eye contact you made with him didn't last long, because he broke it to look behind you at Sam. You hesitantly followed, but as you turned your head, he stopped, and you could only recognize what look like his hand vibrating back and forth.

Whatever he was imitating certainly tickled Steve, since he started guffawing over what looked like some simple hand motion. Sam grinned at your clearly confused expression, putting you under the impression that you definitely had something to do with their little inside joke. This only made you more motivated to find out what it was. "Ask him!" Upon Steve's request, Sam shook his head and his grin faded into an amused smile. He stood up, and you didn't register why until he stopped in front of the bowling ball dispenser. Steve made a small pouting expression, something that you didn't even know he was capable of until now, but Sam didn't seem persuaded.

As Sam made his attempts at knocking over the pins, James was sitting across the aisle next to Natasha, both watching something on his phone, much to her delight. When you expected Sam to return to his seat beside you, he surprised you by cozying up to James on the opposite booth. It made you a little anxious, given their history, but all was settled when he was seen smirking with Sam, and copying a movement with his mechanical arm. Their mouths seemed to be saying, "Can you do this?" "That? Yeah." "Show me." And phrases of that nature. It all seemed to climax when James' forefinger and middle finger simultaneously, as you could only describe it, started spazzing out. Natasha, Sam, and Steve all made a look of surprise and you felt eyes return to you before an eruption of childish laughter fell on the group.

It finally clicked in your head when you witnessed James giving you a discreet, familiar look, and suddently it seemed like you were the only one that wasn't laughing. Sam made the decision to stay beside James for the rest of the night, leaving you to handle a 100 year-old child. You studied said-child's bright blue eyes as they followed James, who was getting up to complete his first turn. Even though Steve's face held a vacant expression, he managed to grasp onto his bordering-on-homosexual-attraction to James when he carefully watched the way he picked up the bowling ball. He redeemed himself, however, with a quick, "He's a lucky guy," directing his gaze towards you. You smiled politely and patted his upper back, watching James make the first strike of the night.

He turned around and made a small victory flex in your line of sight, doing a small jog towards you, slipping out of his coat and tossing it into your lap. His hand found your wrist and removed one of your hair ties you promise to keep safe for him earlier that night, and he started tying his hair up into a messy bun while the pins reset. There was no denying you seized the moment to check him out every chance you got, but when you glanced at Steve to your right, you found he had the same idea. James didn't notice, instead engaging in a small conversation, "Did you see me destroy those pins?" You smirked and studied the way his shirt was lifted ever so slightly, just for a small sliver of skin to peek through over his jeans, "Better get another one." You nodded in the direction of his newly set pins. He let his hands down and made his way back to pick up his ball and ready himself.

"Quite the Super Soldier, huh?" You casually slipped to Steve. He didn't respond, either because of his intense focus on his friend, or the loud music playing overhead. James swung well, but didn't make a strike this time. At the one pin left standing, he threw his arms up in playful defeat and returned to his seat. The coat he placed on your lap earlier was thick, and seemed pretty worn from wear over time, but you were glad to be holding it. "Smells like him." Steve mumbled, looking down at it briefly. He wasn't wrong; you had taken part in enjoying James' scent many of times, whether he was present or not. The guy smelled nice, even when he was sweaty and disgusting.

"Here, you can hold it while I go." You put it in his hands, getting up to complete your turn. The ball you picked was fairly light, naturally, and you had no problem swinging it down the lane. Most of the pins fell, but as you celebrated your mediocre accomplishment, you felt a chalky substance in your hand. A familiar pit resided in your stomach, and you heard 'Oooo's,' from the members of your group when you looked down to find that you had taken a portion of the ball with you. Your fingers still rested in their respective holes, and as your ball came back up, you found a hole perfectly matching the chunk in your hand. James came up to meet you through the horrendous laughter of your colleagues, and you saw him biting back a smile through the clear disappointment on your face. "Hey, you're fine." You sighed and removed your hand from the portion taken from the ball. "I just thought I was getting better." He took the chunk from your hand and fit it into the rest of the ball, "You are, you just got excited is all. It happens to the best of us."

He strained to pick up your choice and return it to the rack on the other side of the booths. You suddenly didn't feel up to bowling anymore, and felt a wave of tiredness sweep over your head. He returned and quickly embraced you from the side, placing his lips on the top of your head, "I'll go for you, babe." You slipped out of his grasp and took your seat once more, lazily watching him make the remainder of your pins disappear from sight. Steve was still tickled over your accident, and you couldn't help but smile at a man that normally still wouldn't be as amused at something like that. In all honesty, he would probably have something to say about the strength training he's been giving you, or give you a comment about control, but here he was, giggling over it.

You decided not to request the coat back when you saw how he crossed his arms, clothing squeezed between his torso and forearms as he leaned back into his seat. "He's so happy now." This he said distantly, watching James celebrate another strike goofily. There was no telling if he said it out of jealousy, pride, or something in between, but you wanted to poke the bear a little more to get some context. "Why do you think that is?" You leaned back with him, and scooted a little closer. Your position mimicked his. "I _know _that it's because of you. We all know that. He's so _happy._" He closed his eyes and let out a breath you weren't aware he was holding in, "Thank you, (Y/n)." His eyes met yours for a fleeting second, rendering you speechless.

"I thought he was gonna die all sad and broody and grumpy, but you really did help him out." He was intoxicated, sure, very much so, but his words were genuine and his face truly said it all. "He used to never talk to anyone but me, unless he was directly confronted. But after you two started, you know," His speech gradually got messier by the second, "He just kinda like started talking to people, you know, and he's doing strikes and-" You cut him off there. "I know, I understand. It's no problem, Steve." His goofy, toothy grin didn't fail to make you chuckle.

For the remainder of the night, James did most of the bowling and virtually won against himself through your name. Nat fell asleep soon after the second round started, as did Steve, and you didn't want to harm another innocent bowling ball. It was a fierce, unfair competition between Sam and James, since Sam got mostly gutters, so James' arms were suffering greatly when it was finally time to go home. It was a struggle getting Steve and Natasha out of the building and into the car, even with your abilities. Just because you could pick something four times as heavy as Steve up, doesn't mean it won't be easy picking something up as awkwardly shaped as Steve. "Jesus Christ, Cap," You muttered to yourself as you slung his torso over your shoulder in a fireman's carry. You may have accidentally hit his head on the top of the car door, but his only complaint was a small mumble. Natasha was safely tucked in the backseat next to him with ease by James, and he squeezed in next to them, allowing you to sit in the passengers' seat.

Even though the entirety of the group went to their respective rooms upon the arrival of home, you stayed up a little past 'bedtime' texting and sharing funny posts with James, who surprisingly got the hang of his device fairly quickly. He still texted painfully slow with his forefinger, but that was the next milestone that you would push at another time. The longer you stayed up, however, the drier your mouth became, and you quickly realized that you hadn't consumed any water that day. In response to your body's call for water, you made a quiet trek to the kitchen downstairs without letting James know about, what you would assume to be, a fairly short moment away from your phone. A voice quickly brought you out of your sleepy trance and into a state of alarm, and you found yourself in a defensive stance almost immediately. Your muscles relaxed, though, upon the sound of James' soothing voice drowning out your anxieties. "Oh my god, you scared the Hell out of me," You sighed in exasperation, reaching up for a glass in the cupboard. "How'd you know I was here?"

You couldn't see him very well, but you could hear the small smile in his voice, "Didn't. I needed some water." You pulled another glass down and handed it to his vaguely visible silhouette, briefly grazing his fingertips when he reached up for it. You started pouring yourself a glass, when you felt his incredibly warm arms sneak around your waist and pull you in, something you only knew him to do when he was really sleepy. Your glass made a _clink_ sound as you set it down and leaned back into him, resting your arms on his and embracing his comfortable temperature, in contrast to the cold kitchen. He allowed you to turn around and drape your arms around his neck, where you could feel the neckline of one of his older tank tops that he often wore to bed. Your fingers grazed the divots of his muscular shoulders and upper back, one of your hands dropping to his waist, and the other reaching its way up through his free, currently messy hair. His gaze was intense, but caring, and the subtle lights from the kitchen's small windows caught him perfectly.

There was no telling what it was; either the small buzz of alcohol in your system, or the simple gravitational pull of his scent, eyes, and entire being, but sooner than later, you felt his lips against your own. His flesh hand held you by the small of your back against him, and his metallic one against the back of your head. "Damn," He mumbled, almost incoherently, against your mouth. It was a little sloppy, but it was passionate and full, even through his childish giggling. You chalked that up to excitement, but you weren't bothered by it. In fact, it was flattering that he was still so stoked to be with you, even after a couple weeks. He grinned, pressing his forehead to yours and pausing to take a break, "Sorry, it's just been a while-" You cut him off by pressing your lips to his once more, and tugging the hemline of his shirt with your bottom hand softly. This time, he held you a little tighter, and leaned a little deeper into it, permitting you to press your fingers onto the bare skin beneath his shirt.

His metallic hand found yours and held it to his side, guiding you upwards. You could have kept going, if it hadn't been for a bright flash of light against the near pitch black of the kitchen. You quickly departed from James and tried to recover from the attack on your eyes, "What the hell?" You looked around to find the source and could barely make out a faint figure across the kitchen island, however, the phone light shining upon his face gave him away. Unfortunately, only one of you were acquianted with him. Your body went into fight or flight mode for the second time that night and you furrowed your brows, "Who the hell are you?" James placed a heavy hand on your shoulder and spoke for you, "What are you doing here, Peter?"

This only confused you more. "It's an honor, ma'am," an almost adolescent voice spoke, "And Mr. Stark had me stay here for a couple nights to, uh, to help with one of his projects." He spoke so fast that it made you feel old. James rubbed his thumb in reassuring motions on your shoulder, and addressed you, "(Y/n), this is Peter, Mr. Stark's...student?" Peter shrugged and nodded. James continued. "Peter, this is (Y/n)." Peter visibly rejoiced and leaned over the counter to shake your hand, and you took it out of common courtesy. "Wow, that is a..." He shook his hand a little after you let go, and had a slight crack in his voice, "A very strong grip, Ms. (Y/l/n)." It was unclear if that was supposed to be a compliment, but you took it with a grain of salt, anyway, given his small frame.

"I had no idea that you two, were, like," There he goes, "A thing, though. Like, I read about you all the time, and Mr. Stark talks about you individually, but wow," You personally didn't want to know what Stark had to say about you, or your relationship, "Oh my gosh, it's so cool. How long have you two been together, if you don't mind me asking? Oh wait, or is this lowkey? I can keep it a secret if you want!" It was 3 a.m. and there was a 14 year old running his mouth in your kitchen, so it was to be expected that you wouldn't be keeping up with everything he said. You were extrremely grateful to have James do the talking for you. "Two weeks, and it's not a secret." He strained speaking to somebody of Peter's nature, you noticed. He tended to keep his sentences short and to the point, and you briefly wondered if that was through previous interactions with this boy, or something that was unique to his person.

"Oh! Okay, cool." There was a very uncomfortable moment of silence, and you knew that even Peter felt it when he let himself exit with a, "Well, um, bye. See you tomorrow- or later today." You both waited until his footsteps couldn't be heard anymore before any words were spoken. His body heat came first, then a rush of words, "Where were we-?" You placed your hands on his chest and leaned back until he got the hint, replying with, "You're going to have to take me to dinner, first." His grip on your waist loosened and he seemed reasonably disappointed, but he didn't push it any farther.

"No problem, what time?" Your arms snuck around his neck, and as you embraced him, you felt him reciprocate. "We can talk about it in the morning," You said with a long, drawn-out yawn. "Yes ma'am."


	6. Serene

Evenings like these came once in blue moon; the temperature was to die for and you could tell the stars would be visible tonight. As you sat at an awkward angle for Wanda to get the best angle for your hair, Natasha was finishing up your nails' top coat. Wanda had decided on a flattering Dutch braid for your date night after scanning Pinterest for ideas.

There was no telling what James was going through with the guys. Anything from an exam on dining manners to lectures on gentleman-esque behaviors, really. Still, even if he had to wing it all night, he had charm and charisma on his side. "So, what's the battle plan for those heels?" Natasha glanced down at your six-inch stilettos beside your feet and raised her eyebrows. "Well, we won't be walking too far tonight. Mostly sitting down at Luciano's and a quick switch to the gelato place right across the street."

She considered this and nodded, "That sounds fine. Hope you know how to walk in 'em." You rolled your eyes and smirked, "I may not look like it, but it's basically in my blood by now." Wanda scoffed from behind you, "I can't walk two feet in anything that's not a wedge." It felt like she was nearly at the end of your braid when she asked for a hair tie. You held it up obediently and she tied the end in a tight, clear band.

Natasha fixed the hairs closest to your face, and allowed you to stand in front of the mirror. "All done." You were stunned by what you observed in your reflection. You were no stranger to self-esteem issues, but tonight you felt stronger and more powerful than ever, especially with this image in your head. Natasha's voice brought you out of your trance, "Come on, sexy. Your date's waiting." With a deep breath and another glance in the mirror, you slipped on your frighteningly tall heels and made your way to the door.

There he was, backlighted by the setting sun and adjusting his blazer accordingly. Your heart skipped quite a few beats, and you held your breath as you caught his eye. At the sight of his wide smile and adoring eyes, your stomach fluttered and face flushed. "Wow...Just wow, doll," He stuttered, making his way towards you, "You look...wow." You let out a much needed breathy laugh, releasing a lot of tension. His slim-fit three piece worked wonders for his figure, you duly noted. He was freshly shaved, sported silky hair, and smelled absolutely wonderful. You breathed in his exhilarating scent as he cupped your face in his hands. "And you look stunning, babe," You complimented.

He closed the gap between you, but unfortunately was the first to pull away. "Come on, we have a reservation to get to." As reluctant as you were to pause your session, he was right.

"So," you rested your elbows on the table, leaning forward, "Your arm." He mimicked your movements, a corner of his mouth lifting, "What about it?" You brought your hands up to your face to hide your giddy smile. Seriously, something about his energy tonight was really amping up your endorphins and breaking down your walls. "What all can it do?" The question was simple enough on surface level, but you had been thinking and there were certain aspects of it that sparked your interest.

He furrowed his brows slightly, but he maintained his smile. He didn't get the chance to answer, however, due to the return of your waiter with your drinks. You broke eye contact with James and looked up at the server politely, pushing the conversation back. "What can I get for you this evening?" You ordered first, followed by James, and the waiter promptly left once more. After an agonizingly long sip of his drink, he answered slowly and cautiously, with a slight tone of amusement in his voice.

"Well, if you must know, it can do anything my left one can, except a thousand times better." If you hadn't been so keen on 'deflowering' him, you wouldn't have picked up on his subtle undertones or his little wink at the end. "On another note, did you see that guy eyeing you?" He didn't look up at you, instead opting to add some splenda into his tea.

"No, what are you talking about?" You were fairly sure the man was simply being polite, but you didn't take a good look at him. "The way he was looking at you- it was- I don't know. I didn't like it at all." He was surely just being dramatic; nobody would be that rude. "Babe, he probably just recognized me." You retaliated.

"And not me? I mean, my face was all over the news two years ago. You're relatively new." He sounded a little defensive, but you let it go. "You never know, James. Don't think too much about stuff like that." You placed your hand on top of his. "You know you're mine, and I'm yours." He looked up from his empty packet, giving you a small smile.


	7. Protect

This time, you watched the waiter a little more carefully as he retrieved your dishes. He didn't meet your eyes, or look at you whatsoever, for that matter. Instead, when he locked eyes with James, he quickened his pace and left promptly. You sighed.

"I don't see how anyone could ever be scared of you, babe." He broke out of his intense stare at the man, and focused back in on you. "Mm, well, I can take a few guesses as to why." He waved his metal appendage above the tablecloth, earning a small chuckle out of you.

Of course you knew why people were apprehensive, but found it hard to come to terms with it sometimes. For example, when he comes into your room at night in an oversized sweater because he can't sleep, or when he stumbles in his boots while walking upstairs.

"No, really. I just think you're a work of art." Every word out of your mouth was true, and then some. It only took a few minutes before the man came back with your check, which James swiped quicker than in the time you could blink. It didn't matter, you'd find a way to repay him one way or another.

Soon enough, you were making your way out of the restaurant and to the gelato place down the street. While waiting on the crosswalk light, he took the cheesy courtesy of placing his jacket over your shoulders. It must've been more of a power move in the 40's, you assumed, because he looked damn proud of himself.

While it was a little chilly, you could guess that it was more to keep prying eyes off of you than anything else.

To your delight, they had just enough of (favorite flavor) left to satisfy your sweet desires. "Thank you so much, Buck." You leaned into him as you walked back through downtown to the car, a wide grin on your face. The gelato was so creamy and not too sweet, but just enough so that it hit the right spot.

James was warm against the chilly night air, and his hand felt so right in yours. However, your euphoria was cut short upon his jacket slipping off of your shoulders. "Oh, pause." You bent over to retrieve it, but jolted upright upon a loud voice.

It was a male's voice, and sounded relatively close in age. But it wasn't about _who_ said it rather than what he said. "Damn, baby, let me get a piece of that!" Jacket in arms, you turned around to your now opponent. Short, brown hair, dark eyes, comfortable outfit, and shit-eating smile.

You had no idea who this man was. His, what you assumed were, friends began laughing and whistling from their spot near the crosswalk. Any other time, you would have been marching down the sidewalk to kick his ass, but because this night was so special, you took a deep breath and turned back around to ignore him.

To your surprise, however, your date was gone. Everything else went by so fast it seemed like it wasn't real. First, James barreling towards him. Then, the man was on the ground. People walking by had their phones out the whole time, and you knew this wouldn't be the end of the story.

Before you knew it, James was walking back towards you. You really hoped that wasn't blood on his hand.

It was blood on his hand. And later on, it was coupled with three stitches, bruising, and a daily routine to follow. He could really be an asshole when he wanted to.

"Why couldn't you have hit him with your other hand? Or, better yet, not at all?" Tony was steaming like a hot pork bun when he saw Bucky's picture on the news. "We have to pay for his fucked up face!" James sunk into his chair, folding his arms across his chest and looking at a leg of the table.

Tony turned to you. "Why didn't you stop him?" You, unlike James, defended yourself, "I didn't know he was gone! He basically sprinted over, you can't blame me for that!" You took a second. "Those bills can be payed easily, why are you on our asses about this? It's OUR private life." You stood up, mirroring Tony's stance.

"It's not the money, it's the politics, (Y/n)." He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled through his nose, "We're trying to look like the good guys out there, and _this_ isn't helping our campaign." You threw your hands up defensively and dropped them at your sides, "What you need us to do, then?"

He took a moment to think, only having been prepared to lecture the whole time. "How about, get this:-" he held his hands out dramatically to frame something, looking off into the distance, "Stop Getting Into Fights." You rolled your eyes, but nodded in agreement anyway.

"We'll control it." He clapped his hands together and grinned. "Fantastic. All I needed to hear." You motioned for James to follow you, and made your way out of the meeting.

"Thanks for backing me up, doll." James grinned shyly, situating himself onto one of the barstools in the kitchen. "Always." You returned his smile, resting your hand on his knee


End file.
